Project: Unstable balance

07 THE BLACKSMITH ON THE BORDER

Strike, strike, down comes the hammer,
On the iron, on the anvil,
Strike, strike, down comes the hammer.
I saw a whirl of dust and running feet,
Children shouting outside our door.
My son has made himself a brand-new sling,
His game bag already full of lizards and rats.
Strike, strike, down comes the hammer,
On the iron, on the anvil,
Down comes the hammer.
I have a daughter lovely as a moonlit night,
Light-footed when she dances on the river stones.
She sits at the river mouth and watches the sea,
With television voices and faces in her ears.
Strike, strike, down comes the hammer,
On the iron, on the anvil,
Down comes the hammer.
What use is a dog bred for war
If you have no war to wage,
No war with which to threaten anyone?
My son — a wolf stained with dark laughter,
With mercies he refused
And clothes far too new.

Strike, strike, down comes the hammer,
On the iron, on the anvil,

Down comes the hammer.
I asked the iron for permission
To go and search for her
Without shedding a father's tears.
Between her legs now lies a fisherman's net,
A one-way ticket for my little girl.
Strike, strike, down comes the hammer,

On the iron, on the anvil,
Down comes the hammer.

“Your son is very rich,” the Captain said,
His face as hard as one from a black-and-white film.
“His mouth was stuffed with money,
There were two holes in his head,
And a belt around his waist with a golden buckle.”
Strike, strike, down comes the hammer,
On the iron, on the anvil,
Down comes the hammer.
I have a daughter lovely as a moonlit night,
Wandering through the streets of great big Italy.
She'll have lights among her hair
And rings upon her hands,
Crowds applauding her, and songs.
Sweet, sweet songs.

There are places in the world where the future arrives on television before it reaches real life.

It arrives switched on and full of colour, blazing with lights, applause, gleaming bodies and effortless smiles. It comes from far away, travelling through crooked aerials and impoverished rooms, entering people's homes like a promise. And those watching begin to believe that somewhere there truly is a country where money falls into the hands of winners, beauty is rewarded, and fortune knows which of her children to favour.

Then comes the border.

And at the border, dreams often change hands.

The Blacksmith on the Border is a harsh and compassionate ballad about what happens when poverty encounters the dazzling illusion of prosperity. About those who set out believing they are crossing the sea towards a promise, only to discover too late that some lights exist only to blind them.